little, red, wolf // popular magic

The snow hushed the city sounds and from far far off came a chorus of howls and yelps. Mama, I hear wolves, she said. Hush, my dear. There are no wolves near. It’s only the wind in the dried old cornstalks, only the whine of the furnace turning on, said Mama. But the girl knew no furnace yelped so high and wild, no wind howled so savage and lonesome. She dreamt of dark fur speckled with glints of light like a winter night sky, of a pool of warm red that spread across the fresh snow.

-from "little, red, wolf" (read more)

Pop music is a spell for staying young. I’m thirty-three

but you’d think I was seventeen, the way I’m carrying

on. My youth was all punk rock, girls who told me

about living fast and drinking in alleys. Told me to wear

ripped fishnets and leather jackets, fuck whoever I wanted

to, do whatever I fucking wanted to. Now that I’m older it’s

that tart pop that sings my song.

​-from "Popular Magic" (read more)

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